


Not Your Time

by ikoliholic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avenger Loki (Marvel), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Resurrection, infinity war fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 23:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikoliholic/pseuds/ikoliholic
Summary: “It’s not your time, my son.”





	1. Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> I had Some Feelings, so I wrote this. 
> 
> Infinity War Spoilers, obviously! 
> 
> It could turn into a big ol' fix-it, but for now, lets call it a lil' fix-it.

He wakes up feeling a warm glow upon his skin. It feels like sunshine, but somehow, Loki already knows it’s not. He struggles to flutter his eyes open, every inch of his body screaming for oxygen. When he finally manages it, he’s greeted by the glare of his father above.

Immediately he bolts upright, despair lurching in his stomach. “No… _no_ ,” his lips rasp, voice hoarse in the back of his throat. _It cannot be_.

He should never have opened his eyes. Should never have taken the Tesseract. Never have fallen into the void, doubted his brother…

The list of regrets had become so long, it was difficult to keep track.

“My son.” Odin looks happier, rested — although there is no fully removing the glint of hardship that all-knowing wisdom gives too freely. Loki struggles to stand up, and to his surprise, Odin offers a firm arm to help with the struggle.

Their surrounding is a gleaming, intangible white canvas; an ethereal glow, reaching beyond their heads and horizon down to the floor beneath their feet. Infinite. There is an odd assurance of peace and joy in the blank silence.

It is not at all how Loki had ever imagined Valhalla. But then, nothing in his life had turned out the way he’d expected, so why should his death be any different?

“Where’s mother?” he asks, a part of him wishing it was her instead to greet him.

“She is here,” Odin says, “but it would be too much for you both.”

Loki understands.

With a wave of his hands, Odin offers Loki a glimpse of what presumably lies beneath the canvas, should one choose to indulge. Frigga is there, a reverent smile on her face as she wills away into a beautifully elaborate loom. She too looks happy and rested, glowing and elegant as always. Loki raises his hand, caresses the projection as it gently flickers and dissolves to a golden shimmer.

“Can you tell her I’m…I—”

“—She already knows.” Odin places his hand on Loki’s arm once more; physical reassurance that he has never known from his father, and yet exactly what he needs more than anything in this moment. “She does not blame you, Loki. Never has.”

Tears of relief fall from Loki’s eyes with that — the guilt he had bore for but a few years had already felt a lifetime. He would never forgive himself for it, even if his mother did. Still, it felt good to hear it from Odin.

They spend a moment or so in silence, as Loki’s mind tries to process the reality of all that’s happened. All that was. All that is. And now he is dead, all that he will be without.

Before he’s left long enough to ponder in too much detail, Odin speaks once more, voice resonant and proud in the infinite silence.

“It’s not your time, my son.”

The words don’t register at first — Loki is truly dead, so how could it _not_ be his time? The bewilderment in his mind must have also reached his face, because the Allfather continues before Loki can even begin to weave a question.

“The universe needs you. Your brother needs you.”

Loki’s wide, blue eyes go glassy once more, and he wears a nervous grimace as a mask. “I’m afraid I don’t _quite_ understand…”

Odin’s mask is mirth, which oddly suits him. “What is there to understand? The Norns wish it so, so it will be.”

“But I’m already here I—” he stammers, “I’m… _dead_.” Thanos quite literally squeezing the life from him and snapping his neck was a visceral, hideous memory, and it was his _final_ memory.

“Here, there. Evil, good.” Odin remarks, nonchalant. “Dead. Alive.”

He presses the palm of his hand onto Loki’s forehead, curves fingertips into the black knots of his hair as the magic permeates and rekindles the flesh, tethering mind and body once more. “ _Loki_.”

Loki hadn’t even realised he was no longer whole.

“Wait!” He screams as the Allfather starts to shimmer to dust before his very eyes, a whirlwind of seidr and chaos enveloping them both. “What should I do?”

“What you must.”

“And if I fail?”

“You will not.”

And with that, Loki is left alone in the infinite white space.

Only it isn’t infinite at all. It _is_ a blank canvas — and his fingers are filled with inky black promise, ready to carve back into reality. Help change the sorry story ravaging across the universe with no remorse, no promise.

He drags his fingers across, slicing and gliding, and makes a door to the dimension he desires.

It brings him right where he wants to be.

Thor.


	2. Wakanda

Wakanda was an impressive place, Loki had to admit. He had never ventured to this particularly shielded part of Earth before. In fact, he wasn’t even aware of its existence — that in itself an impressive enough feat.

And despite all of the recent bloodshed, Loki could still feel the beauty of the place; the richness of the soil clung to the warm air. Not death. The earth was luscious, the sky picture-perfect blue…

Still, the loss was painfully apparent in the faces of those who remained. Wakanda’s leader, T’Challa, along with many others, had crumbled to ashes after Thanos used the Gauntlet.

From what Loki could surmise, a young woman named Shuri, T’Challa’s sister, was now Queen. From afar, he’d watched Thor and her discuss matters on quite a few occasions, and she appeared to be very knowledgable —wise beyond her years. For a mortal, that is.

Loki sticks to the shadows. He’d always been good at cowering when afraid, and was thankful to discover he could still use his magic; some spells rudimentary with his energy-zapped body, but it felt necessary.

He’d hoped that when he was brought back to life that he’d be perhaps granted with a fresh, invigorated version of himself. Alas, no such luck. Not that he’s complaining: alive _,_ after all, was certainly an improvement on _not alive_. That, and the prospect of driving a seidr-forged dagger through that ugly, purple brute’s throat was enough to make Loki function even if he were but a breathing bag of bones.

Still, whenever he catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he has to take pause. There is just something about his reflection now that looks… _off_. He can’t quite place it, but he is certain there is a difference there. His sallow skin, cuts and grazes, dark circles, bruising around his throat that won’t seem to heal…

In all honesty, he doesn't know what else he can do. _About anything_. Odin had seemed so certain that Loki _would_ know what to do, but as it stands, he doesn’t even feel brave enough to reveal himself to Thor.

The never-ending day finally begins its passage into night. The sky creeps up in a dusky purple and pink hue, stars begin to appear in their droves. Cautiously, Loki sneaks into the room where Thor has been sleeping. Watches him remove his clothing first (muted colours and fabrics Loki did not recognise and assumed were Wakandan), right down to bare skin, and climb straight into bed. Thor looked weary and exhausted. Alone.

Loki’s eyes blurred with tears he knew would eventually come. Guilt. Sorrow. He _wanted_ to show himself to Thor, he really did. But he was too afraid. Surely his brother would not forgive him this time.

It couldn’t be the right thing to do...

Could it?


	3. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience and sticking with this fic. I'm gonna be updating MUCH more frequently from now on.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

As each day passes, Loki begins to feel less like a saviour and more like a stalker. He has learned a few more things about Wakanda, but not enough to be useful, and certainly not enough to create a plan to defeat Thanos.

Mostly, he’s just watched Thor moping around.

In the dusk of early evening, he decides _not_ to follow the solemn shadows of his brother for once, instead finding himself deep in one of Wakanda’s isolated, rocky chasms, drawn in by a magic he can’t quite yet grasp. The cracks in the mountain he cannot slither through — they are far too small to navigate. But he quickly discovers another entrance in the palace grounds itself, which he supposes leads to the same place.

He doesn’t know exactly what lies within that guarded cave. A few guards protect it, meaning he can only sneak so far; it isn’t, he thinks, yet worth the risk of the undue attention. _Intriguing_ , though. There isn’t much magic left across the realms Loki would struggle to decipher, so perhaps therein lies an answer.

Along with magic, Thanos plays heavily on his mind tonight. As with most nights of recent, the blood in his veins burns for vengeance.

He will have it, somehow.

*** 

Thor is sat out at a flickering, modern take on a campfire, talking to and drinking with… a raccoon. Okay, Loki _is_ tired, but this seems in a whole new league. And yes, he didn’t manage anything more than a few hours before seeking Thor out again, but that wasn’t really a surprise at all.

“Wanna talk about it?” The raccoon speaks aloud. Of course it does.

Fucking hell. Loki rubs his eyes just to make sure the delusions aren’t creeping back in.

There’s a brief moment of hesitation. “It’s my fault,” Thor responds quietly, staring into his cup. “I was so caught up in vengeance. I didn’t _think_.”

“It’s…understandable.” The raccoon has a drink bigger than Thor’s, and drains it whole. “Look, don’t beat y’self up about it, okay? Coulda happened to anyone.”

When Thor does not reply, Loki finds his stomach twisting.

“Besides,” Raccoon continues, “least we know you actually _got_ a weapon that can kill the bastard. If uh, we ever manage to find him again.”

 _Oh, we’ll find him_ , Loki wishes he could say, _we’ll string him up and slice him into ugly purple pieces._ He expects Thor to reply as such.

Except Thor does not reply.

Loki realises then that his brother has truly lost all hope.

This shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise; Thor had, after all, lost everything. _Literally_ _everything_. But still, it cuts Loki enough to make him feel as if his heart’s clawed from his chest. If he has a heart left, that is. Either way, the sight of Thor, truly devoid of hope, was so tragic it could scarcely be put into words.

Later, Loki watches as his brother, now alone, dangles legs over a cliff-facing chasm. Watches him drink bottle upon bottle of beer, right through the night, clearly unable to drink himself numb. The blue-pink sky hints the golds of sunrise once more.

Now seemed as good a time as any.

Loki steps out from his hiding place.

“Hello, brother.”

*** 

At first, Thor does not seem to react much: at least, only his face does.

Then he looks toward to the beer bottle he’s holding and without a second’s hesitation, launches it at Loki’s head.

“Ow.”

The bottle ricochets off Loki, falling into the chasm with an echo and crash. With that confirmation, Thor’s eyes are a brimful of tears, body prone and shocked.

“I’m not a trick.” Loki stays frozen to the spot. He has a dagger up his sleeve, just in case.

“That’s exactly what a trick _would_ say.” Nevertheless, Thor rises and assesses Loki closer, so close. “It’s really you?”

Loki realises then that he has to prove it with only something they’d know. “Remember the time on Vanaheim, about two hundred years ago, when we had a mead-drinking competition with the forest locals?”

Thor hesitates for a fleeting moment, trying to keep the amusement from his face. “No.”

“Surely you do, brother.” A knowing smirk from Loki. “You had half of the clan banging the gates of the citadel, demanding your head on a platter as compensation.”

“Mother went spare.” Thor smiles. “And I do recall I had to carry you home.”

With that, he grabs Loki into a vice-grip of an embrace, and soon enough the tears flow freely between them both. Loki trembles beneath his fingers; Thor offers heart-wracking sobs muffled into sharp shoulders in return.

It takes some time for the emotion to ease.

“And I thought it was bad watching you die the first two times,” Thor says it with a hint of mirth, but it cannot mask the heartbreak. “Little did I know.” Refusing to let him go, he presses a kiss into Loki’s head, and for once, Loki does not shy away from it.

 *** 

The sunrise brings gentle warmth to Loki’s skin, although it’s probably more from Thor than anything else. They lie on the ground together, more close-knit than is probably healthy, drinking beers that taste like pisswater compared to Asgard’s fine meads. Mostly enjoying the comforts of silence.

Of course, Loki _has_ to ruin such a peaceful, complete moment.

“I see you’ve acquired another eye.”

“There’s a most kind and talented talking rabbit I’ve befriended—”

“You mean raccoon.”

“Oh.” Thor’s face is awash with realisation. “Yes.”

“Why are you up here, anyway?” Loki barks. For some reason, the idea that the only friend his brother had left in the universe was a _fucking raccoon_ made his blood boil. The question was valid, though; the place Thor’s chosen, right on a perilous cliff’s edge, is clearly not a typical-looking habitation of the Wakandan people. The rest of whoever the hell else remains alive are staying much closer to the grounds.

“I wanted to be alone.”

“Such a martyr.” Loki smirks as Thor shoves him playfully. “Mission accomplished, brother.”

They lie together silent again for a while, watching the sun rise higher into the sky. Thor breaks it this time.

“I had him, Loki.” He looks so rueful and angered. “I could have killed him. Too focused I was on revenge, I failed to see clearly.”

Loki shrugs. “We’ve all been there.” He feels the intense heat of his brother’s gaze upon him, though he pretends not to. Then, Thor is suddenly tracing the faded blue and purple marks on Loki’s throat, fingers feather-delicate. Loki flinches, but not in pain. Further trouble plays across Thor’s face, then, trouble that won’t go away until _he knows_.

“You cannot tell me this time was an illusion, brother.”

Loki winces as he remembers the mercilessness of Thanos’ fingers closing over his throat once more, snapping his neck as if it was nothing. The sardonic smile, the _agony_ —

“Father,” he hesitates at first, unsure of exactly _what_ to say, deciding eventually to just go with the absurd truth. “He brought me back. To help.” Thor’s face is unreadable. Loki assumes he doesn’t believe him. Who would? Odin was a powerful sorcerer, but it seemed impossible to imagine. “Help you… I think.” For some reason, panic rises up from the pit of Loki’s stomach. “I…I don’t know.” Dejected, he throws his finished bottle into the chasm. “Wasteful resurrection, if you ask me. Haven’t a damned clue what to do.”

Carefully, Thor wraps his hand around the back of Loki’s neck, pulling him closer; a possessive and enthralling posture. “Together, brother.” Eyes ablaze, electric blue filled with hope once more. “Whatever it is, together we will do it.”

He presses another kiss to Loki’s forehead.

And then, Loki understands.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr: <https://ikoliholic.tumblr.com/>


End file.
